Wednesday, February 25, 2009
Tuesday, February 24, 2009
with man
times are most difficult
going through a lot
she’s working way too much these days
and always with undue stress
it takes all she’s got
so very hard her life
handling however she can
she is not with child, you see,
much worse, she married him,
she’s with man
going through a lot
she’s working way too much these days
and always with undue stress
it takes all she’s got
so very hard her life
handling however she can
she is not with child, you see,
much worse, she married him,
she’s with man
Monday, February 23, 2009
nightime thought
resembling a wad of socks
little mental rockets explode,
shoot off then drop like rocks
into the back side pockets
of my mind
many engraved with happy faces
others wrapped, still sleeping
patiently wait to be taken out
each a little frosted cake
with a prize
in the middle
little mental rockets explode,
shoot off then drop like rocks
into the back side pockets
of my mind
many engraved with happy faces
others wrapped, still sleeping
patiently wait to be taken out
each a little frosted cake
with a prize
in the middle
Sunday, February 22, 2009
overnight
overnight
when sleek kitties creep under fences
lone dogs will bay
at a sound or a scent
moonless, under cover of darkness
stars are blocked by thick waving arms of trees
and flying vaporous clouds
a witches eve for brews and fires
on shallow brown river water’s edge
a large white bird is napping
as some do, standing on one foot
with head tucked under wing
above, the back road traffic has ended
and directly below the bridge
silvery stream water gurgles
then overhead a streak, the long white,
a lone gull shooting swift as an arrow on the wind
while some animals prowl night away
others sleep, practically smiling
dreaming of their friends and family
waiting for the morrow, sun again
when sleek kitties creep under fences
lone dogs will bay
at a sound or a scent
moonless, under cover of darkness
stars are blocked by thick waving arms of trees
and flying vaporous clouds
a witches eve for brews and fires
on shallow brown river water’s edge
a large white bird is napping
as some do, standing on one foot
with head tucked under wing
above, the back road traffic has ended
and directly below the bridge
silvery stream water gurgles
then overhead a streak, the long white,
a lone gull shooting swift as an arrow on the wind
while some animals prowl night away
others sleep, practically smiling
dreaming of their friends and family
waiting for the morrow, sun again
Saturday, February 21, 2009
i have no need to worry
i have no need to worry
my fortune's not behind me
this is what i have
and i’m sharing it with you
i wrote the Magna Carta
the sky i painted blue
you’ll always be another
God sleeps at night with you
steel hauled on rail
sent from man to man
the California grey on sail
to southern waters under sun
water cycles from air to sea through me
one night i made it rain
you are written in nature’s melodies
do you know that you remind me?
i hear the distant running dogs bark
and choose not to run again
by my means i remain this person
and you are able to run the way you do
my fortune's not behind me
this is what i have
and i’m sharing it with you
i wrote the Magna Carta
the sky i painted blue
you’ll always be another
God sleeps at night with you
steel hauled on rail
sent from man to man
the California grey on sail
to southern waters under sun
water cycles from air to sea through me
one night i made it rain
you are written in nature’s melodies
do you know that you remind me?
i hear the distant running dogs bark
and choose not to run again
by my means i remain this person
and you are able to run the way you do
if i write stories
if i write stories
they won’t be scary
only fuzzy animals in mine
all of them will wink and smile
my happy birds will fly and sing,
joy they’ll carry near and far,
my creatures won’t eat people.
Steven King, wait in the car
they won’t be scary
only fuzzy animals in mine
all of them will wink and smile
my happy birds will fly and sing,
joy they’ll carry near and far,
my creatures won’t eat people.
Steven King, wait in the car
way inner
can’t feel my face
by the grace that is saving us
in this place
where high above
stars ought to be over my head
on a night like this
I’ve got a ceiling instead
finding space
for glimmer
isn't easy
by the grace that is saving us
in this place
where high above
stars ought to be over my head
on a night like this
I’ve got a ceiling instead
finding space
for glimmer
isn't easy
Friday, February 20, 2009
Roma Old and New
twenty-five hundred years
of lost objects, spit and trash
split and bashed,
devils and angels
corners and angles
ground under the firmament
by carts, tramping feet and chariots,
covered by layers of stone and tears
worn smooth, remodeled, invaded,
sweat upon, bloodied on,
beaten down, burned,
demolished, polished and paraded over,
made new again
into the boring years and motorcars
when time passes evenly, eventually
like watching a candle burn,
artisans , widows, beggars and whores
Publicans, demogogues, farmers and stores
teachers, dentists and shopkeepers daughters
make bread, make wine
tend the animals
keep them fed and in line
crushed stone rolls well and blows like dust
in the wind on the sweeping wings of time
theirs, yours and now mine,
clamor carries on forever
in the magnificence of proper order
the significance of restructure,
honorable poets, let us drink to life
sing songs with laughter,
chatter long and loud and stall the vandals
of lost objects, spit and trash
split and bashed,
devils and angels
corners and angles
ground under the firmament
by carts, tramping feet and chariots,
covered by layers of stone and tears
worn smooth, remodeled, invaded,
sweat upon, bloodied on,
beaten down, burned,
demolished, polished and paraded over,
made new again
into the boring years and motorcars
when time passes evenly, eventually
like watching a candle burn,
artisans , widows, beggars and whores
Publicans, demogogues, farmers and stores
teachers, dentists and shopkeepers daughters
make bread, make wine
tend the animals
keep them fed and in line
crushed stone rolls well and blows like dust
in the wind on the sweeping wings of time
theirs, yours and now mine,
clamor carries on forever
in the magnificence of proper order
the significance of restructure,
honorable poets, let us drink to life
sing songs with laughter,
chatter long and loud and stall the vandals
Labels:
favorites
Thursday, February 19, 2009
dreams of flying
M. dreams of flying
soaring, looping in joy
picking lovely bright blue leaves
from the tops of the trees
I dream of flying
and I’m packed up to my eyes
with no leg room, jammed between
two sweating, farting, bad breath fat guys
soaring, looping in joy
picking lovely bright blue leaves
from the tops of the trees
I dream of flying
and I’m packed up to my eyes
with no leg room, jammed between
two sweating, farting, bad breath fat guys
Wednesday, February 18, 2009
letter to you
like a letter to you
it’s practically personal when I say
how’s it going? You doing okay?
take car of yourself, someone has to
we’re doing fine, the best we can
I said to take car but I meant take care, cause i was thinking
to mention we bought a car
did I tell you before?
we know our way around the city well because
we know the bus lines from years of practice riding
we just don’t drive where the tram goes
they go on tracks, and so far we don’t
I’d write a poem with birds and flowers
but we live our hours in the city
so this is filled with double parking and pedestrians
still, it’s so very stone old that it’s kind of pretty
hey, I’ve got to go now
time to turn down the lamps
I know this is a strange way to write you
but I’ve saved on the stamps
it’s practically personal when I say
how’s it going? You doing okay?
take car of yourself, someone has to
we’re doing fine, the best we can
I said to take car but I meant take care, cause i was thinking
to mention we bought a car
did I tell you before?
we know our way around the city well because
we know the bus lines from years of practice riding
we just don’t drive where the tram goes
they go on tracks, and so far we don’t
I’d write a poem with birds and flowers
but we live our hours in the city
so this is filled with double parking and pedestrians
still, it’s so very stone old that it’s kind of pretty
hey, I’ve got to go now
time to turn down the lamps
I know this is a strange way to write you
but I’ve saved on the stamps
Tuesday, February 17, 2009
certainly
do your daily deeds
take care of the needs
of those that depend on you
to do the best you can
if all begins to unravel
or gets rough around the edges
no matter, you continue,
turn uncertainty into certainly
it’s the only way, everyday,
you know it‘s true
that’s how life goes, so keep it up,
allow someone to count on you
take care of the needs
of those that depend on you
to do the best you can
if all begins to unravel
or gets rough around the edges
no matter, you continue,
turn uncertainty into certainly
it’s the only way, everyday,
you know it‘s true
that’s how life goes, so keep it up,
allow someone to count on you
Monday, February 16, 2009
in motion
in motion, a million wiggling amoebae
in the overflowing Petri dish
of cell phone talkers, rushing shoppers,
urgent motorcycles,
scooters, bicycles,
cars, trucks breathing fire,
varied species of shiny multicolored metal rhinos in commotion
once jaywalking in front of a giant i fell
broke my arm in three places
got up quickly
the bus elected to brake
and not hit me
most dogs on leashes pull owners,
while sensible cats choose not to run
remain near home
lick themselves senseless asleep in Rome warm sun
and rarely break anything
in the overflowing Petri dish
of cell phone talkers, rushing shoppers,
urgent motorcycles,
scooters, bicycles,
cars, trucks breathing fire,
varied species of shiny multicolored metal rhinos in commotion
once jaywalking in front of a giant i fell
broke my arm in three places
got up quickly
the bus elected to brake
and not hit me
most dogs on leashes pull owners,
while sensible cats choose not to run
remain near home
lick themselves senseless asleep in Rome warm sun
and rarely break anything
Sunday, February 15, 2009
weather map
oh, it could be many reasons,
but i choose the official Italian
Government issued weather maps
to drive me up the wall, daily
a typical day is coming our way
the latest weather map shows
forty-six suns over Italy,
4 suns over Sardegna, seven over Sicily
Dress properly and have a nice day.
but i choose the official Italian
Government issued weather maps
to drive me up the wall, daily
a typical day is coming our way
the latest weather map shows
forty-six suns over Italy,
4 suns over Sardegna, seven over Sicily
Dress properly and have a nice day.
Saturday, February 14, 2009
not by the clock
not by the clock
nor sun’s final ray
the arch of the moon,
or shadows of what others say
will i change pace
for what I write
tumbling, veering, loose in space
off to places beyond sight
freely setting it’s own course
running when and where it might,
a sleek dark horse takes me where i go
with no remorse, I sleep well at night
nor sun’s final ray
the arch of the moon,
or shadows of what others say
will i change pace
for what I write
tumbling, veering, loose in space
off to places beyond sight
freely setting it’s own course
running when and where it might,
a sleek dark horse takes me where i go
with no remorse, I sleep well at night
Friday, February 13, 2009
dreamed i was
i dreamed i was someone else, you see
i said my name
and it wasn’t the same
when i looked she was where she ought to be
it never before happened to me
cause i was in the right place
it must have been a case
of mistaken identity
i said my name
and it wasn’t the same
when i looked she was where she ought to be
it never before happened to me
cause i was in the right place
it must have been a case
of mistaken identity
Thursday, February 12, 2009
intention
friend Tom called to mention
i didn’t post a poem that day
well, he’d missed mine, i’d say
and every day was my intention
it had been a year then i forgot,
simply, other things were going on
i wasn’t playing the sleeping pawn
a prognosticator i am not
i missed a day without remorse
now i’ll hop back on track
and write a stack
of poems, you see, i will, of course
i didn’t post a poem that day
well, he’d missed mine, i’d say
and every day was my intention
it had been a year then i forgot,
simply, other things were going on
i wasn’t playing the sleeping pawn
a prognosticator i am not
i missed a day without remorse
now i’ll hop back on track
and write a stack
of poems, you see, i will, of course
Wednesday, February 11, 2009
Walker - one wholey knight
Walker Texas ranger in Italian
with the volume down
no messing around
the man’s a stallion
the show starts with a mess of guys
getting beat up by the ranger
and other helpers, no stranger
than the fact that no one dies
the old man sneezes
they take him to hospital
where he wears his hat, sitting tall
in bed, i mean, Jesus,
he stays there until he mends
walker beats up more of the bad
fellows, and i’m glad
i don’t watch until the program ends
i know the final score
Walker beats up everyone bad
and of this i’m glad
i’ve seen the show before
with the volume down
no messing around
the man’s a stallion
the show starts with a mess of guys
getting beat up by the ranger
and other helpers, no stranger
than the fact that no one dies
the old man sneezes
they take him to hospital
where he wears his hat, sitting tall
in bed, i mean, Jesus,
he stays there until he mends
walker beats up more of the bad
fellows, and i’m glad
i don’t watch until the program ends
i know the final score
Walker beats up everyone bad
and of this i’m glad
i’ve seen the show before
Tuesday, February 10, 2009
how can i best explain
how can i best explain
the trees and trails
the woods with clean water hills
that i knew in my youth
oh, somewhere there is a partial picture
that shows a wooded area
but it doesn’t taste of seasons
it doesn’t show the turtles in fall
the thin ice of winter
pollywogs in spring
or sasafrass roots in summer
when we were ten we listened to the frogs
in the forgotten pond
we dug forts and swung on vines
walked over the creek on the trunk of fallen giants
our highway was an overgrown remnant of
the old street-car bed
we knew it well, we read its signs
a garter snake, a portion of broken tie
the occasional bend
i may never mention it again
but hope some day to take you there
the trees and trails
the woods with clean water hills
that i knew in my youth
oh, somewhere there is a partial picture
that shows a wooded area
but it doesn’t taste of seasons
it doesn’t show the turtles in fall
the thin ice of winter
pollywogs in spring
or sasafrass roots in summer
when we were ten we listened to the frogs
in the forgotten pond
we dug forts and swung on vines
walked over the creek on the trunk of fallen giants
our highway was an overgrown remnant of
the old street-car bed
we knew it well, we read its signs
a garter snake, a portion of broken tie
the occasional bend
i may never mention it again
but hope some day to take you there
Monday, February 09, 2009
teach the children
if my kid’s kids lived next door door
instead of next moon moon
i’d stop in and say hi or they would
i’d teach them to do and quietly enjoy
to notice birds watching them
even the cat who sometimes isn’t really sleeping
keeps an eye on them
i’d try, i would, but example is the only way
for kids do as their parents
mine are destined
to continue the line
of doing lucky well
they have grown middle aged now
with families of their own
and live far away
my teaching is over
instead of next moon moon
i’d stop in and say hi or they would
i’d teach them to do and quietly enjoy
to notice birds watching them
even the cat who sometimes isn’t really sleeping
keeps an eye on them
i’d try, i would, but example is the only way
for kids do as their parents
mine are destined
to continue the line
of doing lucky well
they have grown middle aged now
with families of their own
and live far away
my teaching is over
Sunday, February 08, 2009
click, click
i'll put it here for you
once in a while we’ll click
you and i click. . . click,
click, rolling the same track
there is no order
no turning back on the blog
keep sifting drifting through
find something in the fog written for you
too bad it’s not leather bound
so you could hear the click of turning pages
and feel the weight of thick
paper on your fingers as you leaf
until then, brief poems will continue
to fall like drips from a faucet
into a pan – dap – dip –dap
scroll on down the hall amici, you can
once in a while we’ll click
you and i click. . . click,
click, rolling the same track
there is no order
no turning back on the blog
keep sifting drifting through
find something in the fog written for you
too bad it’s not leather bound
so you could hear the click of turning pages
and feel the weight of thick
paper on your fingers as you leaf
until then, brief poems will continue
to fall like drips from a faucet
into a pan – dap – dip –dap
scroll on down the hall amici, you can
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)